From the mind of Mary Purdy: A collection of true personal essays, creative outbursts, humorous monologues and other sundry offerings that necessitated translating ideas and whims from the brain onto the keyboard.

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4/23/14

The Summer of 'Tis

The summer of 1981 my father had a love affair with the word
“‘tis”. It became how he would respond
to many of my brother’s and my questions.

“Is it time to go to bed?” We
asked. “‘Tis.” “Is this the way to the lake?” “‘Tis.”
Statements were met with the same response. “It’s so hot in here!” “‘Tis.” “Disney world is awesome!” “‘Tis.”

Initially we didn’t take much
notice. It was only after hearing it a
number of times throughout the day that we began to think, “What ‘tis
going on?” We hadn’t had much exposure
to this supercilious-sounding contraction; maybe in Christmas carols like Deck
the Halls where “‘Tis the season to be jolly.”
Or in Shakespearean vernacular, “Tis almost fairy time” from A Midsummer
Night’s Dream. But in regular
conversation? And as a solo response
with no attached words? “‘Tis” had no place in our typical household about
toast and swimming pools, monopoly and math homework..

We wondered. Was my dad trying to
save time by cutting out a syllable or two? Was he working out some sort of
Dickensian, or Old English fantasy? Was
he hoping this term might elevate him to Bard status?

It wasn’t just the word itself, it
was how it was delivered with an almost haughty air, a sense of peering down his
nose as it slid off his tongue and into conversation with the laziness that
accompanies common contractions. His
eyes would blink languidly and his lips would purse gently outward as if he
were savoring the elegant taste of the phrase. Even my mom raised an eyebrow. “Tis?
Really, Peter,” she’d chuckle, but my dad held steady.

Of course, as soon as we figured
out that this was not typical father patter, we began to make fun of him. We were hell bent on eradicating this word
from the vocabulary with relentless teasing so it could join the stash of other
words we had banished from his lexicon (“bathing costume”, “frock” , “hearth”, and “unguents and
ointments”. ) We began to respond to all my dad’s queries and assertions, with
the same one word, our necks jutting out, chins hailing the sky, lips curving
downward as if something unsavory sat upon our tongues.

Finally, my dad, relinquished the
antiquated term, with grace and a smile,
leaving it to be used by the poets and aspiring Shakespeare’s without the mockery of children who don’t
understand the value of a lyrical abbreviation.

30 years later you might ask, “Tell
me a story about your Dad. Is it true
that he was a remarkable man?”